|Drink to me,
only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine:
But might I of Jove's nectar sup
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,
When I am sad and
weary. When I think all hope has gone.
Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont